


Terracotta Sunsets.

by impracticallyperfect (whynotfour)



Category: Impractical Jokers
Genre: F/M, honeymoon sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-13 14:47:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15366966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whynotfour/pseuds/impracticallyperfect
Summary: Sal and his new wife are insatiable in the Mediterranean. Sickly sweet sex.





	Terracotta Sunsets.

**Author's Note:**

> For Madi as always xo

A candyfloss sky paints their second night as Mr and Mrs, wisps of clouds touching the evening as sweetly as the platinum bands sitting above their knuckles. The city’s curves are caressed by the sunset and she aches to explore their corner of paradise even as the locals board their windows with shutters. The world is tainted by the colours of her bouquet, pastel pinks that swim in the bottom of her glass as they toast to the holiest of unions and the glittered bubbles from within spill across Sal’s lips with every touch of his lover’s tongue.

The delicacy of her perfume clings to his collar as she leans into a kiss and Sal yearns to touch the lose waves of hair that conceal the contours of her face. His hand freezes in motion when she uses her right hand to push back the locks, twisting them to one side as she slips his index finger between her lips. She catches him at his knuckle and he can’t help the faint groan that betrays him at the contrast of her warm mouth compared to the metal of his wedding ring. All he can do is pray that the inscription within never fades away; I’m yours forever.

He needs to feel her body pressed to his and even though the only sound they can hear across the island is the chatter of lovers and friends in bars, Sal still has the courtesy to whisper the things he wants to do just below the shell of her ear. Shivers paint her spine and she’s glad he has chosen to bury his face against her skin as she flushes beneath the red lights. Her legs slip apart before his hand can reach them, sinfully slick as he praises his ‘good girl’ with a kiss. Their tongues move lazily against each other and one of her hands ties into the salt soaked kinks of his hair to hold him close for as long as possible. Her underwear still lies somewhere in the suite from earlier and his fingers sink seamlessly into her skin as he kneads her thigh with his palm - even as his wife he still requires consent. She bites against his lip in response; thrusts herself into his touch as she wordlessly begs for his fingers. He pushes them flat against her heat first, stroking upwards as the pads of his fingers collect traces of her and she moans softly when they scissor her clit. He adds more pressure as he slides them towards her abdomen and it’s only once his palm replaces the hood of her sweet spot that he gives his shoulder up to her mouth where she sinks her teeth into his clothing to mute the sounds of pleasure. Sal draws slow circles, purposefully drawing out every circuit until her thighs try to close around his wrist and he needs to use his knee to keep them open.

“Are you going to look me in the eyes when you cum, Mrs Vulcano?” he whispers into her hair, half checking their balcony isn’t being overlooked as he pulls back to expose her to the remaining rays of sunlight. 

“Your wife,” she makes the words themselves sound like an aphrodisiac, pulling at the pit of their stomachs with as much force as her impending orgasm and he doesn’t expect his fingers to change their pattern but without a second warning their pushing past her lips and diving into the wetness that’s now staining the terracotta tiles. 

He’s relentless as they curl against her, massaging the sweet spot he’s always eager to find and she lets the moans of his name spill out as Sal watches her face contort with pleasure. All he can do is lick his lips and bite down to stop himself from devouring her against the wrought iron bars with the Mediterranean their witness. 

“All mine.”


End file.
